Bellum Scriptor
by zap777
Summary: The journey of a jaded, war-ravaged priest as he follows and chronicles the path of "The Seven" after they defeated Diablo. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Beams of sunlight streamed in through the tent's many holes, illuminating the living area with a dull glow. The tent was small and barren, save for a small rucksack and a crumpled mess of blankets and bedrolls. Outside, a rooster crowed, loudly reminding everyone what time it was. The crumpled mess stirred. A small yet audible groan escaped the roll of blankets as a shock of salt and pepper hair emerged, followed by a pair of squinting brown eyes.

The rooster continued crowing repeatedly as the figure sat up completely, grumbling loudly.

"Alright, alright, I heard you the first time," He muttered, reaching for a shirt, "I swear, I'm going to kill that thing."

Mornings had always been rough for Dmitri, particularly cold mornings. An accumulation of year's worth of injuries, wounds and aches all assaulted him at once. He had often referred to them as little "reminders" to never make the same mistake twice. Hunched over painfully, he rummaged through his small rucksack, pausing long enough to occasionally curse his throbbing lower back.

Having found what he needed, Dmitri emerged out into the cool autumn morning and stretched fully, his eyes half shut and groggy. The sun had just crested the horizon, casting its orange rays over the many uneven rows of canvas tents and wide-spoked wagons. The few trees that dotted the landscape were covered with fiery red and yellow leaves, each languishing to hold on as winter approached. Having shaken the feeling of bleariness from his head, Dmitri's stomach growled loudly at the smell of baking bread. The smoke from dozens of small cooking fires drifted into the air as the inhabitants of 'tent city', as he called it, went about preparing their morning meals, mainly flat bread and a local variety of cheese that tasted suspiciously like rotten fish.

Overall, "New Kinder" the official name for the trading post, was very typical. It was quite a new settlement, having been built out of necessity as a military operations post, then converted to a post exchange for travelers and dealers in all kinds of wares. The settlement had quickly outgrown the wooden barricades that served as its original walls and was thriving, not only due to it's prime location as a go-between of major cities, but also due to it's rather unique history. Also unique to this post were the particularly strange type of travelers it attracted. That much was evident to Dmitri as soon as he had arrived at New Kinder.

Dmitri mused on that fact as he wandered through the tents, looking for a quite, open area to perform his morning routine. It seemed like New Kinder was home to denizens from all corners of Sanctuary. Nearby, an old woman from Kingsport admonished the children of a trader from Lut Gholein for teasing her cats. Next to them, a powerfully built Northman argued loudly with a young woman from Duncraig over a misplaced log of wood. Cultures and commodities clashed in a veritable economic storm. Lut Gholeinian pita bread was traded for exotic dried fish from the Kurasti's and even coveted steel blades from Harrogath were traded for finely shaped Amazonian bows. In the end, the traders all spoke the same language. Gold.

And then, there were the adventurers. Mercenaries, cowards and would-be heroes arrived in droves. The majority were fools chasing after hopeless dreams of treasure and fame. The Sister's allowed them into New Kinder, at first to aid in the reconstruction effort and then to fill the Sister's empty coffers with much needed resources. And that they did, drinking unfathomable amounts of spirits and spending large sums of money. Many adventurers arrived with idealistic goals and left with empty pockets and terrible hangovers. A few, like himself, actually had a purpose for being at New Kinder. Not that Dmitri much cared as he kept to himself for the most part.

After a few minutes of fruitless searching, Dmitri finally found an open spot on the grass and oriented himself east, facing the rising sun. Systematically, he began to arrange the items he had brought with him. He set his jug of water down and rolled his mat out in front of him. The mat was well-worn, the result of years of use. The flowing, complicated script on the mat had long since faded away. Dmitri then pulled a small, leather bound book from the folds of his brown robe, touched it to his forehead and set it down carefully upon the mat.

Satisfied that all was in place, he kneeled onto the mat and touched his brow to the ground. The cold earth pierced through the thin mat and caused a dull ache in his temples. Sighing, he began uttering a prayer that he had repeated every morning for the past 18 years.

"Praise be to the light, for it's infinite love and charity, through it all things are whole. Blessed is he walks the path of righteousness, faith and justice, for it is he, who shall enjoy the fruits of eternal paradise."

Dmitri continued his morning ritual of repeating the phrase and kneeling up and down in steady cadence. The praying man was so lost in his repetitious sacrament, that he almost missed the large, snow-white canine standing in front of him.

He paused and eyed the animal cautiously. The large, shaggy beast merely stared back at him, it's head cocked to the side, almost as if conveying curiosity. A low whine escaped it's throat.

"She wants to know what you are doing."

Dmitri cast an eye over at the voice and saw a tall, lanky fellow seated on a tree stump a few feet away from him. Tattered robes covered his emaciated frame as he nonchalantly combed through his tangled beard, looking bread crumbs. Another low whine came from the hound as she took a few steps toward him.

"She wants to know why you bob up and down like a sparrow," the man said, still looking for remnants of food in his dirty beard.

"Why do you care?" Dmitri asked tiredly as he struggled to place the man's face.

"Me? I do not care!" He laughed, showing his blackened teeth, "But I am not the one asking."

"The dog?" Dmitri asked, already guessing the answer.

"Yes, the wolf."

"The dog wants to know what I'm doing?"

The man nodded and scattered the bread crumbs from his beard onto the ground. Immediately, a small flock of ravens swooped in, cawing incessantly and fighting over the crumbs. Dmitri sighed as he remembered the man. Branded as a lunatic by most, the bedraggled man was seen doing a variety of odd things, such as having one-sided conversations with trees and even once, running amok through the camp, flapping his arms like a bird and squawking.

"You're insane," Dmitri said, continuing with prayers.

The man laughed hysterically as he stood to his full height and said, "Me? No, I am perfectly sane. I just listen more intently to the language of nature. You, my friend, are insane. Tell me, does He ever answer you?"

"Look…wolf man, my patience is wearing thin. Why don't you go speak to that large oak next to the smith? I'm sure it'll make for a much more riveting conversation. You know, away from here," Dmitri said, growing more annoyed by the second.

The wolf man frowned.

"Very well, I suppose I shall be leaving now. Come Brynn, the rude man wants us to leave," He said, walking away, the wolf trotting at his heels, "perhaps the oak _will _have more interesting things to say."

Dmitri cursed himself angrily, for having to deal with such stupidity, for being interrupted, but mostly for not being able to answer the man. Why did he do this every morning? Perhaps a younger version of himself would have answered the man with a tidal wave of quotes and parables, scripture and zeal, but nowadays, he found himself simply going through the motions.

He stared at the prayer book, as if seeing it for the first time and picked it up. The cover was made of leather, made rough from years of handling. The golden cross emblem had long since been rubbed off. Suddenly, he was overcome by the urge to throw it as far as he could and never see it again. He shook his head and merely placed it back into the folds of his robe. Taking a deep breath, he stood and realized that he had cut his prayers short for the first time in 18 years. The wave of guilt never came, and neither did the bolt of lightning that he was half expecting.

Perhaps he was insane after all.


	2. Chapter 2

"If you would just sign here…here…and here," Dmitri said, his voice barely audible over the din and noise of the large dining tent.

The young woman hovered over the text and signed hurriedly, scribbling illegibly onto the parchment.

"Is that it?" She asked, anxious to leave.

"Yes, that should be it, unless you wish to revise your statements," Dmitri asked, wooden stamp in hand, "Do you?"

"No, no. I'm fine," She said, standing up, curved wooden bow in hand, "I can go?"

"Yes, that'll be all, Flavie. Thanks, and remember, you have up to a week to come back and make any changes," He said, stamping the document and filing it into a basket underneath the long wooden table.

He yawned and massaged his tired wrist. That last witness statement had taken a while to write up. That girl had been involved in a number of operations in the area during the campaign against Andariel, working as a guide for travelers and as private security for anyone willing to pay. As such, she had quite a long, interesting story to tell. Still, he had been at it all morning; questioning, writing, signing and stamping. Administrative work was just as tiresome, if not more so, than field work. Nonetheless, secretarial work had it's definite advantages, he thought, eyeing the now-empty dinner plate in front of him.

The dining tent was getting louder and louder as more people crammed into the lengthy tables. Raucous laughter erupted from a corner as a group of mercenaries swapped stories, each one topping the next in outrageous lies and exaggerated bravado. Whether it was the number of demons slain or the number of women they had slept with, the men eagerly nodded along, waiting to trump the previous tall tale with his own.

Dmitri snapped out of his daze and sat forward on the low bench, fresh parchment and ink quill in hand.

"Next," he called, gesturing to the open seat in front of him.

A female approached, her slender face framed by thick curls of shoulder length yellow hair. Upon reaching the table she unceremoniously plopped down and leaned forward, elbows propped on the scarred table. Dmitri naturally found his gaze dropping lower and lower until…

"Can I help you?" She asked, reflexively pulling her wool blouse tighter around herself.

"Uh…right, yes," He cleared his throat and filled his quill with ink, "Name, please."

"Althea Mina Nikleros," She said, her green eyes watching him form fluid letters onto the paper.

"Age?" He asked, guessing in his head.

"81," Althea replied quickly.

Dmitri paused, thinking for a second, "81? Using New Standard Sanctuary?"

"I don't know, then."

"Right, okay..," Dmitri said, thinking nothing more of it. It was not uncommon for peoples from certain cultures to reject the standard calendar of Sanctuary. Particularly those from more hard-line warrior societies, where age is measured by cycles of the individual crop seasons. He paused to drink the remnants in his wine cup.

"Place of birt--"

"I thought you were not allowed to drink," Althea interrupted, glancing at the now empty cup.

"Excuse me?" He asked, curious as to what she was getting at.

"I'm almost certain that wine is forbidden to you people," She continued, pressing the issue.

"You people? What are you going on about?" Dmitri questioned.

"You work for the church…and not as an altar boy."

"Is that so? And how would you know that?"

Althea gestured to the dull clasp on his cloak. The clasp was nothing extraordinary. Square shaped and cast of bronze, on the clasp was etched a book overlaid with a war hammer. It was standard issue for all Zakarumite holy warriors. Well, all the warriors that were left.

"And what does that matter?"

"Do you only speak in questions, Paladin?"

Dmitri heaved a sigh and looked at her bleakly, before reaching for the wine jug. Pouring carefully, he filled his mug to the brim.

"So, you found me out. Are you going to report me now?" He asked, downing the wine in a long swig and immediately pouring himself another. The tart wine soured his mouth and made his disposition even more glum.

"Hardly. The flaws of a drunken priest hold little consequence for me. Besides, people are much more interesting when they are full of drink, wouldn't you agree?" She asked.

A small smile crept onto his face as he pushed the jug towards her. Althea accepted and poured a small measure into the flagon next to her.

"Well, holy man--"

"That's Dmitri," He interrupted.

"Dmitri. So, what are you doing here? Don't you have some grand crusade to embark on?" She asked, a hint of sarcasm evident in her voice.

"Not at the moment. All the good crusades were taken," He paused,

"I'm just doing some clerical work for the church."

"How interesting," Althea replied flatly, "I didn't know Paladins enjoyed doing paperwork."

"One would be surprised. Besides, I'm not exactly a spring chicken anymore, if you know what I mean," Dmitri joked.

"Spring chicken?" She asked, confused.

"Ah, that means I'm getting old."

Althea merely nodded, pretending to understand the joke, "Still, you don't look like you are enjoying it much. Even for an old man."

Dmitri laughed suddenly and grabbed the basket full of forms from underneath the table. Setting in on the table, he pulled random papers and scattered them onto the wine stained table.

"I'm not! I hate it, it's absolutely mind-numbing work! Look, I've written the same thing hundreds of times today," He exclaimed, pointing to examples.

Althea looked over the pieces of parchment strewn wildly around the table. Each one was full of the same handwritten eyewitness statements. Each one recounted the exact same story, albeit with a few details changing here and there. Each one told the story of the demonic presence of Andariel and the fall of the Rogue monastery.

"See? Each one is exactly the same, but just told from a different point of view. Lucky me, I get to listen to each and every person in this place tell the same story," Dmitri ranted, glad to finally be able to vent to somebody.

Althea looked up from the papers and gave Dmitri a blank look.

Dmitri exhaled slowly and shook his head, "My apologies. I shouldn't have gone off on a tangent like that."

She merely nodded as Dmitri restacked the documents and filed them back into the basket. Papers neatly put away, he grabbed his quill and prepared himself to continue working.

"Anyways, Althea Mina Nikleros. Where would you like to start?" He asked, quill pen hovering over the paper, preparing himself for the typical outpour of information. In fact, he had done this so many times, he could almost predict where she would start and what she was going to say.

"I killed Andariel," She stated, leaning forward.

Dmitri blinked. The noise of the dining tent suddenly became less intrusive.

"What?"

"I killed Andariel," Althea repeated, "I personally stabbed my spear into her stomach. Repeatedly."

A long sigh escaped his lips as reached underneath the table and pulled out an extra thick stack of blank paper, "Well then. Let's start at the beginning."


	3. Chapter 3

Althea leaned heavily on her blood-stained spear as she attempted to draw ragged breaths. Around her, the others did the same, panting loudly. The air inside the small room was stifling and thick, tinged with the ever present stench of decay. After regaining her breath somewhat, she allowed herself to sit, trying to find a clean spot on the stone floor. The rest of her companions, a motley assembly of warriors, all had the same idea and collapsed onto the ground, their armor scraping loudly against the stone walls.

"I think…we're safe for the moment, we should rest here for a second," said one of the men, a Paladin.

Beside him, a massively framed Northman sighed and remarked, "Maybe more than a second, boyo, some of us aren't as young as you."

"I'd appreciate if you didn't call me boy, Wuglaf."

"Relax, Pavel," the Northman chuckled tiredly, "I was just saying that we should rest for a while. I need to clean the guts out of my beard anyways."

Pavel took a glance around the room at the exhausted party and reluctantly took a seat next to Wuglaf, still refusing to take off his battered helm. The room was silent, save for some quiet shuffling coming from Althea as she rummaged through her knapsack, looking for a spare cloth to wipe the demon blood from her spear.

"Ana? How about a little light?" Pavel said, looking up into the gloom.

A few seconds later, a petite, raven haired woman walked to the center of the room, a small cube in hand. Ana placed the plain looking cube on the ground and gave it several twists. The box whirred noisily and suddenly the room was enveloped in a reddish light, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

"Thanks," Pavel said as he watched the strange contraption conjure a small, continuous flame.

Ana nodded and seemingly melted back into one of the shadows in the corner.

"That's still unsettling no matter how many times I see it," Yates, the other paladin in the group remarked as he walked over to Pavel, several folded parchments in hand.

"No kidding," Pavel said, noticing the look of worry in his friend's eyes, "Something wrong?"

Yates kneeled in front of Pavel and unfolded the papers on the ground. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and shook his head in frustration. The yellowed document was a map of the catacombs and basements of the Rogue Monastery. Pavel leaned forward towards the map, his blue eyes taking in the multitude of twists and turns.

"Well, I think we're here. Or here. Or maybe here," Yates uttered, placing his finger on each possible location.

Pavel sighed and shut his eyes and racked his brain, desperately trying to remember the path they had taken, a near impossible task considering the constant running and fighting they'd done since entering the monastery.

"Pav, I think we're lost," Yates declared frankly.

Wuglaf laughed suddenly and looked up at Althea, "Maybe if someone hadn't beheaded the guide that the Rogues lent us…"

Althea stopped cleaning her spear and felt four pairs of eyes on her, "Perhaps I'll just let the next one of us that gets bitten by a zombie take a chunk out of your ass, Wuglaf. You probably won't miss it."

"Feisty one, aren't we!" Wuglaf said, a smile crossing his scarred face.

Althea shook her head, annoyed, and returned to her task, switching from cleaning her spear to furiously scrubbing her brass greaves.

"So…what now?" Yates asked.

Pavel said nothing, only removed his steel helm, revealing a thick mane of dirty brown hair. His eyes, once an attractive feature on his face, were now sunken and shadowy.

"Well, what do you think?" He asked in return.

"I don't know, it's hard to tell. The Sisters built this monastery so damn confusing and we haven't really had a chance to stop and do map checks."

"I'm sure whatever route you pick will work out, Yates," Pavel said, rising tiredly.

"Pav…" Yates began, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"We all trust you. Just go with your gut. I'll be checking on everyone."

Yates nodded and returned to studying the map intensely, while Pavel walked over to Ana, or rather, where he thought she was. He finally found her sitting cross legged against a pillar, thick spectacles on her face as she intensely studied a multi-colored cube.

"What does this one do? Shoot fireballs or electrocute people?" Pavel asked, leaning on the pillar.

Ana merely shook her head and turned the cube over in her small hands repeatedly, pointing to different colored, seemingly random sections of the object.

"I don't get it…" Pavel said, confused.

Suddenly, her hands became a frenzy of twisting and turning motions, the cube becoming a colorless blur and moments later, the cube transformed from an erratically colored object into a cube with all six sides perfectly aligned and organized by color.

"So it's a puzzle then…amazing," the Paladin remarked, "Did you make it yourself?"

She nodded silently and tossed the object to him. Pavel caught it lightly, half expecting the thing to explode or burst into flames. Seeing that it was safe, he pocketed the object.

"Thanks, I'll give it a try sometime. I doubt I'll be much good at it though," He said, turning to leave, "Is there anything you need? We might be here for a while."

Ana looked up at him through her thick spectacles and shook her head, again silently.

"You know, one of these days we're going to get you to talk."

Wuglaf's rough voice floated from across the room, "Not likely, boyo, her mouth's shut tighter than a --"

"Just help Yates with the map, would you?" Pavel, a hint of exasperation in his voice, cut him off.

The Paladin turned away from Ana and continued his rounds of assessing everyone's condition. He stopped next to other female in their party, Althea. The woman warrior was still attempting to clean the gore that had caked up on her greaves. Her blond hair, normally in a well-kept ponytail, was now dirty and hung disheveled around her face.

"You're going to wear a hole straight through your armor if you keep that up," He said, taking a seat next to her.

"It's been through worse days," She said, inspecting the shin armor she was working on, "I take it we're lost then?"

He scratched the stubble on his chin and looked over to Yates and Wuglaf who were hunched over the faded map, arguing in loud whispers over which way to go.

"No, not lost. We're just stopping for a quick rest and I was tired of listening to Wuglaf 's constant complaining."

"A shame we didn't leave a trail of bread crumbs behind us," She said, smiling slightly.

Pavel raised a quizzical eyebrow, "Breadcrumbs?"

"Oh, it's just from an old story I was told as a child--"

A thunderous crack suddenly filled the entire room, silencing everyone. The group scrambled for their gear and leapt to their feet, eyes scanning the entire room, looking for the source of the sound. There was only one door in the room, making only one entrance and one exit. The first crack was followed by the sound of a second impact, louder than the first. More soon followed until the room was shaking with the steady thundering noise of collapsing stone.

"Where's it coming from?" Yates asked, steel mace and shield held at the ready.

"It's not coming from the door!" Althea attempted to shout over the deafening racket.

"Where then?"

In the corner, Ana carefully wrapped and put her glasses away. Satisfied that they were secure, she placed an ear to the wall and felt the rough stone wall with her bare palm. She quickly stepped away from the wall and pulled on Wuglaf's tunic with surprising strength to get his attention.

"What, woman!" He roared, pulling on his leather gloves.

She pointed to the walls and made an exploding motion with her hands.

"What the bloody hell are you going on about?" Wuglaf shouted, "Speak!"

Exasperated, she ran up and smacked the stone wall repeatedly, mimicking a walking motion with her fingers.

"…Oh, the walls! They're coming through the walls!" The barbarian announced, finally understanding Ana's frantic game of charades.

"Backs to each other! Face the walls! Get ready!" Pavel shouted, brandishing his sword and shield.

The group of warriors all placed their backs to each other in the center of the room, forming a defensive ring that faced outwards, ready to repel an attack from any direction with a veritable wall of swords, spears and hammers. Suddenly, the noise stopped. A thick silence hung in the air as the party held their collective breath, waiting for the inevitable attack. Pavel breathed deeply and shut his eyes. A traditional battle prayer escaped his lips and helped to calm his nerves. He exhaled and opened his eyes just in time to see a section of the wall come flying straight at him.


End file.
